


I Open at the Close

by Winterwolke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Different ending than in the books, Different shot at the scene in the Forbidden Forest, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Sort of happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwolke/pseuds/Winterwolke
Summary: "The snitch opens at the press of his lips, just like Harry thought it would. Inside is a familiar ring, small and almost unremarkable if not for the deep gauge left by the sword. The third Hallow, completing the collection and making Harry the Master of Death."A different shot at the scene in the Forbidden Forest with canonical character death and a slightly different meeting at King's Cross afterwards. With just a hint of Drarry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	I Open at the Close

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I open at the close](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/613306) by Victe. 



> This fic was highly inspired by the artist Vitce and a few posts in a HP fangroup theorizing about Death in the books. I really recommend checking out Vitce's works, it's really good. If you do, please leave the artist some credit here: https://vitce.tumblr.com/
> 
> I was really struggeling with writing ever since we realized we're gonna be one more family member in the near future (only five more month, yay) and if you are a regular reader, I apologize for not posting something sooner or continuing my 'verse. For all new readers, please enjoy. I cried like a baby while writing this, but it could only be my crazy-acting hormones... just in case you could keep a tissue nearby ;)
> 
> Thank you, Michaela97, for doing a great and fast job beta'ing this for me, even though she didn't have much time :)

The snitch opens at the press of his lips, just like Harry thought it would. Inside is a familiar ring, small and almost unremarkable if not for the deep gauge left by the sword. The third Hallow, completing the collection and making Harry the Master of Death. 

He doesn’t want that questionable honour, not with what it cost him to gather all three. He thinks of his parents, thinks of Sirius and Dumbledore. He thinks of Dobby. They all protected him, but what for? So he can go further, just a few steps and get slaughtered like a lamb. But no, Harry reminds himself, it’s not about death. It’s about sacrifices, the ones that every loved one in his life made. The one that he needs to make, to save his own loved ones. They don’t know that it’s his destiny to die, but they count on him to end this madness, to bring peace to the Wizarding world. 

It seems like an impossible demand, but Harry is the living (not for much longer, though) example that even the impossible can be achieved if one pushes their boundaries far enough.  
And, he realises, he doesn’t need to make this last walk on his own. He’s the Master of Death, which means that death has no meaning for him anymore. He can command it just like he can command his broom. It’s a gift, probably the last one he will ever get, but this once Harry doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t mind being selfish, like the brothers.

He puts the ring on, like a wedding ring, forever bound to the ones that came before, that he left behind. At first, nothing happens, but he isn’t concerned. Maybe the dead are shy of the living. He’s feeling a bit shy, too.  
Then a branch breaks right beside him, but he knows it’s not one of the Death Eaters, coming to get him. He turns, smiling.

Draco is standing in front of him, in his ever ethereal beauty: white faced, slender limbs and silver-blond hair, his skin unblemished, his body whole. Harry doesn’t want to trust his eyes, and tries to remember what Draco had looked like at Malfoy Manor when the Snatchers got hold of him, Ron and Hermione. Different, to say the least. Gaunt and stretched thin, his eyes dead and without any hope, dark bruises colouring his face, his arms and every other patch of skin Harry could see then.  
His eyes, watching Harry with unconcealed kindness and more love than he’s ever seen before, are otherworldly. 

“No,” Harry whispers, afraid if he says it out loud, then it will become true.

“Kind of stupid how this turned out, huh, Potter,” Draco says, but his voice is soft and melodic, and even his sneer has no edge.

“No.” It’s all Harry’s mind can supply as he sinks to the ground, more devastated than he thought he could ever feel. “No.” Of all the things that could happen, all the horrible things he’s seen during the war, he never once thought this would be the one to break him. He has a hard time comprehending what he’s seeing, hasn’t even, in his wildest, darkest dream, thought this could actually happen.

“It’s alright, Harry.” A ghostly hand settles on his shoulder, firm but not, and Harry finally understands Beedle’s tale. The dead can’t come back, they are always caught in the veil, neither here nor there, as long as the stone calls to them. He’s aware he’s crying, trying to muffle his sobs in case the enemy is near, but he can barely bring himself to care. Not when his love comes to him from beyond the veil, trying to comfort him on his own last journey.

“The Manor,” he gasps, regret and grief making his voice deep and rough.

“It’s not your fault,” Draco says, but that only makes the tears come faster. “They would have killed me anyway. My life was over the second the Dark Lord knew of our connection. I was living on borrowed time when they caught you.” His hand lifts from Harry’s shoulder and begins to pet his hair. It feels more like a soft breeze than actual fingers, but it’s soothing nonetheless.

He remembers all the times they were together, after a good shag or just because they needed to be near each other. It was always Draco’s fingers stroking through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, more than once making Harry forget the heavy load that had been placed on his shoulders at a too young age. With Draco at his side, he could sleep through most nights, his mind free of horrible memories and the dark things that Voldemort projected.  
He sighs, letting his mind drift to better days than this one.

“I hate to urge you on, but we don’t have much time and there are others who want to see you.” That breaks Harry’s calm immediately. Draco is right, of course, he can’t afford to linger in the past. Surely he will have enough time for that when all is over.

More steps echo through the silent forest, and for the first time in years Harry sees his parents again. They hold each other’s hands, identical smiles on their faces, as they step beside Draco. His mother only has eyes for him, but his father puts his other hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“He’s a right git, but you did well, choosing him,” his father says, looking smug and proud. 

They all share a quiet moment - Harry’s throat is so dry, he can’t reply even if he wanted to. His mother kisses him on the cheek, a whispering sensation that burns like fire. In this moment Harry is sure he will never forget it, the feeling of her lips on his skin, and he doesn’t care that she isn’t here with him but already beyond.

“It’s time, Harry,” she says, putting her arms around him, a final hug until they see each other again. It probably won’t be long. “You have been so brave all your life, we are so proud of you. Your father and I loved you from the moment you came into our world, and we will always love you, until the end of times. We couldn’t have wished for a better son.”

Harry swallows heavily, tears flowing anew, and he can’t help but feel small and hopeless at this moment. He’s about to die, and his only company are the shades of his family and friends. He feels small, powerless, can’t stop the question that comes out of his quaking lips.

“Does it hurt? Dying?”

Sirius gives him a smile. He looks younger, more content than ever. He looks like moments before he fell through the veil, strong, powerful, capable. So full of himself and of life.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, his voice soft and understanding, like Harry’s question isn’t weak and childish. “It’s easy, like going to sleep after a long day.”

“That’s nice,” Harry says and finally gathers enough strength to move on. He doesn’t feel brave, doesn’t feel like a hero, and he thinks again of lambs and slaughter. Multiple hands hold him: Draco has slipped his hand into Harry’s left, his father has his hand on his left shoulder. Sirius holds tight onto the right one.

He looks up at his last guest, suddenly ashamed that he hasn’t addressed Remus before.  
“Remus, your son…” He chokes, unable to say more. But Lupin just smiles, the same that everyone else has given him, without lingering resentment that he is alive while they’re not. He only sees love, no matter who he looks at.

“It’s alright, Harry. I’d rather see him grow up, but I know he will live in a better world than we ever had. He will be loved and taken care of, and that’s all I could wish for.”

It’s settled, then, no reason to delay the inevitable. The walk through the Forbidden Forest seems both to last forever and be the shortest walk Harry ever had. They don’t talk, don’t need to, because Harry feels their well-wishes in his very core. He’s brimming with their love, so full that all the bad thoughts leave his mind. When they breach the premise of Voldemort’s camp, he doesn’t feel the dementors. He slips through them, easy like breathing.

He’s never been so calm, so serene. Systematically his mind separates itself from the burden of living: he doesn’t feel his legs moving or the twigs that crack under his heel. He doesn’t feel his heart beating away, or his breath catching in his throat. He only feels the light touches on his arm and shoulders. He only feels Draco’s hand in his. 

“You’ll be with me the whole time?” Harry asks.

“Of course,” Draco says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, escorting his boyfriend into death. “I would have gone anywhere with you, Harry, forever.”

It’s the last Harry hears before he steps onto the clearing, facing Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and letting the ring fall between into the shadows, forgotten for all time.

***

It looks like King’s Cross, but it isn’t. Harry thinks he can hear trains in the distance, but all he sees is white. He’s calm, collected, and he thinks it’s pretty neat for a seventeen year-old who recently died. The thought floats away, like the vapour of a steam engine.

“Harry, my boy.”

It’s Dumbledore’s voice, and the person looks like him, but for a split second Harry sees something else. A shadowy figure, draped in a dark cloak, looking unbelievable old and oddly kind. Just like the thought before, the image vanishes. He smiles as he sees his old mentor again.

“Where are we, Professor?” he asks, although he knows the answer, somehow. But somehow he doesn’t. This place is confusing, and at the same time, it’s not.

“What do you think?”

“King’s Cross.”

“Huh. Then we are,” Dumbledore says, and the white morphs into brick walls and benches, their wood soft from millions of people who rested here before.  
“If this is a station, where do you want to go?”

Harry thinks for a while. His thoughts are scattered, but simple. He can go ‘back’ or he can go ‘forth’. He doesn’t know what ‘back’ means, doesn’t know where ‘forth’ will take him. When he thinks of ‘back’, there is a slight pang, a pain so delicate and yet deep, that he can’t breathe for a moment. When he thinks of ‘forth’ there is only calm and warmth and the distinct knowledge that something, someone is waiting for him.

“You can decide either way, my boy.” Dumbledore looks at him with the familiar knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Sometimes the painful way is the most rewarding, sometimes life rewards us with a simple ending. I can neither advise one or the other. I can only promise you, that no matter which way you choose, the end will always be the same.”

Harry looks up at Dumbledore again, and again he sees the other one, the figure in its dark cloak. He understands where all ways lead to, in the end, no matter how long or short the distance. The knowledge weighs heavy on his mind, and this time, it sticks with him. It’s another decision he has to make, too young to have to do it, but forced to anyway.

It’s maybe selfish of him, but all his life he waited for something, somebody. He waited for somebody to save him from the Dursleys, he waited for something magical to happen. He waited for Quirrel to take the stone, for Sirius to take him home, waited to see Draco again, waited for Voldemort to finally kill him. This time, people are waiting for him. This time he can choose where or when he’s going.

In the end it isn’t a hard decision. Harry had a painful life, although not all times were bad. But he’s had enough of longing for people that are long gone, for giving and rarely receiving in return. 

His eyes turn forward, and he thinks he sees the people there, waiting for him, ready to put their arms around him and welcome him in their midst. He looks at Dumbledore, who is patiently waiting for his answer, calm and harmless.

“Forth.” It’s all Harry needs to say.

“Very well.” Dumbledore gets up from the bench and claps into his hands. “You’re sure?” 

At Harry’s nod he pulls out his wand - it’s the Elder Wand, Harry notices - and murmurs something unintelligibly. As soon as he’s done, a familiar whistle echoes through the halls of King’s Cross. Harry’s heard it enough times to know that the Hogwarts Express is about to leave in a few minutes.

“Hop on, Harry, the train will take you where you want to go.”

They eye each other for a moment, like old friends, before Harry nods again and walks over to the platform. He passes through the brick wall, but this time his hands are bare and he is alone. He doesn’t think he will need much where he’s going and he understands that some journeys must be taken alone, but he still wishes for company.

As the smoke clears from his eyes, he sees the empty platform stretching endlessly before him. The red locomotive glistens in the sun, ready to move anywhere he wants. He’s never been in the front before, but this is a new adventure and he’s ready for a new experience. As he nears the first carriage, he sees a lone figure standing there, waiting for him.

“Nice of you to finally show up, Potter!”

Draco takes Harry’s hand in his, and they kiss, slow and chaste, for the first time in a very long time. They hold hands as they board the train, a journey they can finally make together.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is beta'd, but I usually read through stories several more times to check everything. Since this story made me cry so much, I couldn't do it this time. Please let me know if you find something horribly wrong, so I can change it.
> 
> Also, let me know if you liked it (or you didn't), I won't bite. ;)


End file.
